Herbert Fuego

I once received an email from a woman who claimed to have worked at a cheese shop across from Cheesman Park in the ’70s where employees allegedly sold weed under the counter. I couldn’t find much to confirm that story, though I did find that a place called The Big Cheese won a Best of Denver award for Best Cheese Shop in 1984, the first year Westword produced that edition — and maybe that bonus helped sway the judges.

Sad to say, the Big Cheese isn’t around anymore, but when I came across a strain by the name of Cheesy Rider at a dispensary in Cap Hill, it seemed like a fitting time to honor a cool place that might or might not have existed. An old head in the bud room told me that Cheesy Rider was actually a motorcycle-riding rodent mascot for Cheetos before Chester Cheetah took over, so the toking connection was too strong to pass up.

Herbert Fuego

If there’s anything I miss about school, it’s bartering at the lunch table. Nothing was more satisfying than trading a limp PB&J and apple slices for a Lunchable and Hot Cheetos. (I hear prison offers a similar rush, but I don’t miss haggling that bad.) Rich, spoiled kids flaunting their junk food were always an easy target, as their friends selling Herbalife products have subsequently found out.

Although candy was still a rarity at school even for the rich and spoiled, other sweets weren’t. Twinkies, Fruit by the Foot and Squeezits were all hot commodities, but one dyed, sugary treat outranked them all: Gushers. The immense amount of corn syrup and colored goop was an instant draw for kids. So naturally, some of those same qualities are an instant draw for stoners.

Herbert Fuego

Once you reach a certain level of regular cannabis consumption, your tolerance doesn’t always allow your body to react to strains as sensitively as less frequent users might. So a hit of Super Lemon Haze won’t make my mind race like it once did, nor does a small bowl of Banana Kush knock me out with the same efficiency. I can still experience the intended effects from particular strains, though I usually have to consume more.

But any little bite of Chemdog will shoot up my spine and zap my brain no matter how big my tolerance and ego get. Whatever it is about Chemdog and the family of chemical-smelling, brain-dicking strains that it has produced over the years, my mind sure can’t handle them.

Herbert Fuego

“Tang” is one of the more difficult flavor concepts for me to grasp. Is it sweet? Savory? Sour? A mix of all three? Calling something “tangy” at a family dinner table will often lead to an argument from someone who thinks tangy and tart are the same thing, thanks to powdered-drink-pushing chimpanzees. In actuality, tang is supposed be slightly sour while adding another fresh or zesty characteristic, as with plain yogurt, sourdough bread or certain tomato sauces.

Tangy cannabis strains are even harder to pinpoint, because the trait doesn’t really exist in most outside of Cannalope Haze and some peach- and apricot-leaning strains. Sour flavors in pot usually come from terpenes found in citrus fruits, which are clearly more sour than tangy — but when matched with light pine, herbal or floral notes, the tang is there.

Herbert Fuego

Everybody has their own tells when they’re high. For most people, it’s the red eyes, giggles or slow reaction time, but my giveaway has always been weed breath. Brushing teeth, drinking soda, chewing gum — none of them work as fast as they should, and that’s tripped me up plenty of times during conversations and other face-to-face encounters.

So a strain like Mendo Breath, known for heavy relaxation and cottonmouth, wasn’t going to put me in any sticky situation that I don’t already routinely find myself in. In fact, trial runs with Mendo Breath’s daughters, Cactus Breath and Garlic Breath, made me exhale no more fire than usual, so I felt more than ready to take on the parent.